


What Happened to You?

by SpencerRemyLvr



Series: A Collection of Ideas [12]
Category: Criminal Minds, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Feels, Hurt, Short, Snippet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 14:43:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3654231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpencerRemyLvr/pseuds/SpencerRemyLvr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another snippet for my idea collection. One day I'll write this. This prompt was "victim Spencer"</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Happened to You?

**Author's Note:**

> I want to apologize in advance, m'dears. I'm having a bad day, so my characters are as well. Here's a bit of heart stomping for you. Enjoy!

Out of all the shifts that he worked for security detail, Warren absolutely hated the middle of the night shift. It was, by far, the most boring of all the shifts. It was run from eleven pm until three am. During that time, pretty much everyone was asleep. Those that weren’t asleep were out and only came home to go to their rooms and go to sleep. Nothing ever happened! Any nighttime attacks happened either early in the evening or early in the morning, so there wasn’t even a large concern about a potential attack on the mansion. Someone had to be on guard, though, on the off chance that something _did_ happen.

Warren sat back in his chair and sighed. He couldn’t stop himself from tapping his fingers on the countertop as his eyes scanned over the security monitors. Despite being bored and despite his dislike of the shift, he was still diligent in his duty. Even if he didn’t even want to be here at the moment. No, he wanted to be out with the team on their current mission. Where exactly they’d gone, Warren wasn’t sure. He’d just seen the others rushing to answer the Professor’s call and he’d received a mental command to stay at his post, that the others were capable of handling it and that it wasn’t extremely serious. So, Logan, Scott, Remy, Ororo and Jean had gone out together to take care of whatever was going on. Warren scowled at the monitors. He’d much rather be with them than here, even if it meant having to spend time around the annoying Gambit.

The monitor near the front gate suddenly caught Warren’s eye. He could see a car pulling up toward the front gate. Someone must be coming home, then. He wondered who was out and about. The car wasn’t immediately familiar. Absently he kept an eye on it at the same time as checking the other monitors. Nope, still nothing else. He focused back on the gate again. The car had stopped, as everyone did, but instead of reaching an arm out to input a security code, the driver’s door opened.

The camera had Warren’s full attention now. What on earth was this person doing? He watched him go around to the passenger’s side of the car and open the door there. He leaned inside and—Warren wasn’t sure, but he swore it looked like the guy’s hand jerked, like he did _something_ that was just out of sight and shrouded in the darkness. Whatever it was, the passenger was climbing out of the car now, stumbling a little like he’d had too much to drink. Had someone from the house gone out and gotten drunk and had to be drive home? Quickly he ran down a mental list of who it might be. The two walked up to the gate, one very obviously dragging the other along, and Warren found himself bracing, waiting for trouble, ready to raise an alarm if need be even though they’d done nothing to really suggest they were trouble. These two were both shrouded by black clothing. The driver was in pants, a jacket, and his hood was up against the light rain that was falling. The guy with him had on what looked like a long black cloak or robe, the hood pulled up over his head and hiding his face.

What happened next wasn’t what he’d expected. The driver reached out, taking something from under the hood and then moving his hands to the gate. From the angle the camera sat, it was almost impossible to see. Warren reached out and clicked a few keys, adjusting camera angle. What the hell? Before he could get where he needed, the driver was turning around and walking away. He got directly back into his car and immediately started to back away.

Warren didn’t bother waiting any longer. He took off from the security room, grabbing a communicator as he went. Bishop was out prowling the grounds and Warren didn’t hesitate to call him for backup. “Hey, Bishop? We’ve got something strange at the front gate. I’m heading out there to check it out.”

There was a pause before Bishop replied “I’ll back you. On my way there now.”

When he got outside, Warren spread his wings and flew down to the gate instead of walking, making the trip even shorter. He landed on the outside a few feet away from the gate, hands held at the ready, body braced. The car was long gone, but the one figure still stood by the gate, cloaked and hooded. On the other side of the gate, Warren saw Bishop coming forward, a gun at the ready in his hand. Good. Confident with that, Warren took a step forward and called out “Excuse me. Is there something I can help you with?”

No reply. Warren took another step forward. Okay, he’d try this again. “Excuse me. Can I help you?” He waited, but still no response. His body tensed just a little more in preparation. “Turn around and take your hood off. Let’s see who you are, buddy. Move nice and slow, now.”

Now, that got a response. Warren watched the man turn toward him slowly. One hand came out from the cloak to hold it together while the other slowly lifted toward the hood. Warren couldn’t help but stare at that small expanse of skin that was revealed. The hand was very, very pale; more so when compared to the obvious markings on the wrist. He could clearly see bruising and what looked like dried blood on that wrist. A sick feeling was settling in Warren’s stomach. He tried to prepare himself as the figure pushed the hood off. Absolutely nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.

If he’d thought the wrist was marked, the head that was revealed was even worse. Half of the man’s face was bruised it looked like, with a split across his cheek and one on his lip. The corners of that mouth were bruised as well and his nose looked slightly swollen. There was another bruise on the other side on his jawline. Around his neck was more of the dark bruising and, _fuck_ , a suppression collar. A chain ran from the collar and was looped around a bar on the gate. Ratty brown hair hung around the face, looking as if it hadn’t been washed in days.

The eyes that locked on Warren were wide, obviously terrified, hazy in that drugged sort of way, and so very familiar. Those eyes were what clued him in. They were what told him who was standing before him. The bruising on the face hid any potentially familiar features, mottling the man’s face so that it wasn’t recognizable. But the eyes gave him away—blue and purple with flecks of pink in them.

He couldn’t believe it. Warren took a step forward, his mouth dropping open. Holy shit. “Spencer? Spencer Reid?” he asked in disbelief.

The marked mouth started to tremble. It looked like he tried to speak, but no words came out. Warren dropped his defensive pose, focusing totally on the young man. Any of the usual animosity he felt around Spencer, the fighting that seemed to flare up between them whenever they saw each other, it was gone. His voice was gentle when he closed the distance between them. “Spencer, it’s Warren. Warren Worthington. Do you recognize me?”

Just as he got close, one hand lifting toward him, Spencer flinched so hard he stumbled back toward the gate. The minute his body connected with the gate, his legs seemed to give out or he tripped or something—the cloak blocked the view—because suddenly Spencer started to go down. But the chain on his collar was still wrapped around a pole on the gate and it jerked him up short, stopping him from hitting the ground, pulling a hoarse cry from him as it choked him.

Warren shot forward. He took hold of Spencer, straightening him back up, and couldn’t believe how hard the man was trembling at his touch. It was as if he were going to have a seizure at Warren’s closeness. Bishop had run forward as well and he was working now on unwrapping the, the _leash_ from the gate. Up close like this, Warren had no doubts. This was Spencer Reid. Son of a fucking bitch.

Close like this, he also saw more than he had before. The cloak had fallen open slightly, clearly showing Warren that the young man was wearing a pair of black cotton pants and a black tank top and nothing else. Nothing else but bruises and blood. What little skin Warren saw was marked with bruises in various stages of healing, their motley of colors seeming sickly against the otherwise pale skin.

“Call ahead to Hank.” Warren ordered Bishop. “Tell him…tell him Spencer’s here and he’s hurt. Bad.”

The dark man nodded as he finished unwrapping the leash. As soon as he was done, Warren gathered Spencer close, shushing him lightly when he heard the man whimper and mewl and tremble even harder. “Shh, Spencer, it’s ok. We’re going to get you help. You’re safe now, you hear me? You’re at the mansion and you’re safe.”

It was terrifying, exactly how light Spencer was. He barely weighed anything. Warren wrapped the cloak securely around him and then he was lifting off from the ground, his wings carrying them both straight to the mansion’s front door. _What the hell happened to this kid?_ He wondered. _What the fucking hell happened?_


End file.
